


Wolf

by drakonlily



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drakonlily/pseuds/drakonlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Wolfman Killer was one of America's most prolific and dangerous serial killers with what was assumed to be a fifteen year history and over 90 confirmed victims. He was working as a criminal profiler for the FBI out of Quantico before he was found out by Agent Jack Crawford. He has to date refused to give up the location of his last sixteen victims. Agent Crawford called in one of the best minds he could to take on the case.</p><p>This AU fic that explores the question ″what if Will Graham snapped before he met Hannibal Lecter?″</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Howling

The engine of his Bentley Arnage rumbled to a quiet stop as Doctor Hannibal Lecter began to flip through the case file in his hands. He wasn't interested in the reports or the rudimentary fumbling of an psychiatric assessment. What he wanted jumped out at him; photographs that showed off an undiscovered artist. A true professional who demonstrated skill and talents that begged to be developed.

His hands were full of bloody possibilities. 

Lecter wasn't usually the sort to dabble in criminal psychology. He'd written numerous books on the topic during the early years of his psychiatry practice. That was the general flow that everyone seemed to settle into. One began one's professional life with wards and criminals due to high turnover among other reasons. Since then, Lecter had moved on to a far more lucrative, though less interesting practice of Stepford wives and neurotic musicians.

Perhaps it was boredom that moved him when the opportunity to speak with the Wolfman Killer came up. Beyond his professional curiosity, Hannibal felt some level of personal admiration. The Wolfman killer was one of the most prolific serial killers in history. In Lecter's personal opinion, also one of the most interesting. He didn't set tableaus or even draw out the act of killing his victims. The Wolfman's signature was to isolate his victims then bring them down with one brutal strike; typically to the throat. His trophies only consisted of the organs that he took home and fed to his dogs. 

Before he was caught, very few people suspected Will Graham. The word among the professionals that knew Graham was that his capture may not have happened at all if not for the sudden upswing of his victim count. Rumor had it that the major impetus for Graham's sudden lack of discretion involved the Minnesota Shrike. Graham had been instrumental in catching Hobbs and putting an end to his crimes. If Graham actually had to use deadly force to put Hobbs down or he was simply acting upon his own desires is unknown. 

Regardless of reasoning, pulling the trigger openly on another person and getting away with it had flipped a switch that Graham couldn't turn off. The added thrill of the audience was too alluring. The MO didn't change, but Graham got sloppy. He stopped caring about hiding bodies and then the evidence began to pile up.

It is assumed that Jack Crawford confronted Graham in his office out of courtesy. This proved to nearly be a deadly mistake on his part. Instead of a denial, Graham attempted to escape. Crawford was forced to tackle the other man in an attempt to subdue him. When two people are fighting with a vested interest in not hurting each other, damage is collected by the surroundings. A chair snapped over Graham's back and the edge of a desk cracked cleanly off with the force of Crawford's body against it. By the time the door had been forced open by others, both men were bloody in their respective corners of the room. 

Crawford demanded to know why Graham wasn't even trying to kill him. Graham's response came out meekly. He thought that Jack Crawford was a good person. Somewhere in his mind, even the Wolfman Killer had rules to live by. 

In the asylum everything smelled of sterile cleaner over some form of sweetly-sick malady. It was as offensive as the clashing colors in the director's office. Chilton didn't seem happy that Crawford had called in a second opinion. He crossed his arms over his cheap suit and glowered. "Given the appropriate amount of time, he'll tell me everything. I don't think that having another doctor speaking to him will do anything but convolute the situation. He's only very recently gotten to a place where he can be seen as a psychiatric patient. He's spent the majority of his time with us being treated for extremely advanced stages of encephalitis." Chilton tapped a netbook computer lightly. "It's been a fascinating study." 

"The fact of the matter is that he hasn't. And as Agent Crawford has told me, 'people are waiting for answers'." Lecter's suit was Italian bespoke and cost well over three thousand US dollars. He pulled at the cuff of his sleeve. "I do have a history of dealing with closed-off patients who have, shall we say, difficult medical histories. Will Graham certainly fits. If nothing of value comes of it, then you shall carry on."

"And Agent Crawford thinks you should waltz in here, steal my patient-."

"I believe the words that he used were 'transfer to my care'."

Chilton gritted his teeth. "You won't get anything out of him. He's already chosen to keep those locations to himself. In my summation it's because he feels he may be released and will want to go back to his previous victims."

"Why would you assume that?" Hannibal arched one eyebrow in question. "For Graham it appears that he never felt the need to display his kills, correct? They weren't important to him then, they won't be now." Lecter leaned back and crossed one ankle over his knee. 

Chilton nodded and relaxed back into his chair as well. "It's quite possible that he has no idea where they are, considering the entire right hemisphere of his brain was inflamed." Chilton sighed and tapped his finger against the arm of his chair. "But between the two of us, I doubt that." 

Lecter nodded, but dismissed Chilton's claim privately. Graham hadn't felt the need to display his kills. They were consumables. Hannibal understood the idea. Certain people were food and good for nothing more. "Perhaps he just needs someone to agree with his perspective of the situation." 

The response was a snort as if Lecter had said something singularly stupid. "Fine, have fun." He slammed a key card onto the table in front of Lecter. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

The Baltimore home for the criminally insane seemed designed for intimidation. The walls were tall and impossible to scale unless one counted the creeping vines and poison oak that coiled around the barbed wires at the top. The hallways echoed regardless of how softly one stepped. The walls were drafty and cameras blinked in every nook; red eyes kept silent track of the worst monsters humanity could provide it. 

Lecter knew that they were mostly pathetic cases of those who couldn't handle their own psychoses and thus couldn't realize what was interesting about their vision. They aspired to be monsters and fell short. Their false wings melted in the sun and they crashed back to earth where they began wasting oxygen and polluting the world around them. Despite the imposing design of the institution, in Lecter's summation it was a waste of resources. 

Walking past other killers and self-proclaimed fallen angels was utterly boring. Lecter was different than all of them. He was smoother, swifter, and far more intelligent. He could see the spark of what they barely touched on. In desperation to bring those sparks out, Lecter had tried to contact many of these same killers. Anonymously, of course. All in all they were horrible disappointments. Lecter ignored the ones that he had spoken with in the past. Particularly, he curled his lip as he walked past Doctor Abel Gideon. He had a loathing of that one ever since there were rumblings about Gideon actually being the Chesapeake Ripper. That was a betrayal impossible for Lecter to forgive.

At the end of the hallway, isolated from the other inmates, was the Wolfman himself, Will Graham. Lecter had admired Graham's handiwork but had been certain that he would be as visually deficient as many of their kind sadly were. As a result, Lecter had not quite expected the man that sat in the very end of the cell like a king at the head of his macabre table. He watched Lecter approach with narrowed, calculating eyes.

Lecter's mouth curled up like a snake as he attempted to hide his own anticipation. "Hello Mr Graham, I'm Dr. Lecter."

Graham cocked his head to one side for a moment and looked Lecter over. He leaned forward on his cot with his strong hands clenched between his knees. "I warn you, you won't like me when I'm psychoanalyzed." He had a distinctly unsettling stare. It was as if he was looking into Lecter, not at him. "You're much better dressed than Chilton."

Lecter allowed himself to be flattered that Graham noticed that difference between them. "I've come here to have a chat with you. May I?"

Graham motioned to a chair on Lecter's side of the glass. "Not like I have anything else to do."

Lecter sat down, keeping his back straight and leaning forward slightly in the universal 'I'm listening' pose that all psychiatrists learned. "It appears you have been a very naughty man, Will Graham."

Graham laughed in an almost nervous manner. He then got up and paced the cell a bit, obviously uncomfortable with his lack of control on the situation. "You may as well cut to the chase, Doctor. Remember, I know those tricks. Swelling on my brain or not."

Lecter couldn't help but noticed how his muscles flexed, coiled like a true predator in an ill fitted cage. "Fine, I will be more blunt. The FBI wants to know where you've hidden the last sixteen bodies."

"And I want to go outside for a jog, but we don't all get what we want." Graham leaned up against the glass with his arms above his head and smirked. He looked directly at Lecter as he spoke, searching for something. Perhaps it was a dare for the other man to look away.

Lecter did. The papers and Internet articles never did say just how attractive the Wolfman was. He probably lured in several victims with that face of his. "I suppose I've wasted enough of your time then."

"Leaving already?" He looked distinctly dejected. "Just because I don't want to dig up scraps doesn't mean I can't be helpful."

"Then how can you be helpful, Mr Graham? I am a very busy man. I run a very tight schedule." There. Now he had his attention.

Graham backed off the glass and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'd think someone like you would at least understand that some people really are just dog food."

"With that attitude, you must not like dogs very much, either. Humans are so fatty, if you've studied any anatomy you'd know that." He dodged the implication that Graham threw at him. Then again, Will Graham had been a profiler, a contractor with the FBI before he'd been caught. He had an amazing perception about people.

"Actually, fat is good for dogs. Any highly predatory animal needs a certain level of calories to be at it's healthiest. Though mostly organs, very little meat. Sometimes bones." Graham didn't notice when other prisoners looked his way. He wasn't oblivious, but being top dog didn't seem to mean much to him. "But you look like you know more about anatomy than I would."

Oh, he wanted to get into his head, did he? Well, two could play that game. "I'm a doctor. So, where did you acquire your anatomical knowledge?"

Graham sat down on his cot. "Reading. You should know I didn't get a college education." He leaned forward to mimic Lecter's first pose. "You're just much more interesting than everyone else whose talked to me."

"That's a natural reaction." Lecter didn't want to boast, too much, but people were often rather enthralled with him. "But you said you were going to be helpful?"

"Do you have a profiler better than I was?"

"I don't work for the FBI, this was a professional favor." Lecter had a small compulsion to want to get closer to the glass, see if he could get a smell profile off of him through the air holes.

Graham's eyes passed over Lecter again. He leaned back. "I'd be willing to help them if they would be willing to let me outside." He smirked. "I'd even let you hold the leash."

Lecter got the distinct impression that there was a double meaning behind the word leash. "You'll have to give me a little something to go back with, after all you've been out of commission for some time now. You could possibly be manipulating me for your own gains." He wasn't going to admit that he would come back to this cell and talk to him with or without Crawford's approval. Graham was incredibly interesting; an artist, really.

Gideon cleared his throat in a rude and overly loud manner. Lecter's eyes glanced to the side, though he didn't turn his head to look. 

It was enough for Graham to focus on. "Gideon offends you. I wonder why that is..."

Lecter had to suppress the curl of his lip that Gideon's name tended to evoke. "Something about murder, Will. Do you mind if I call you Will?"

"Of course, I don't much like formalities." Graham looked over at Gideon's cell. "Something about murder?"

"Yes, your murders, or an unsolved case that interests you... just a little taste of something." Lecter almost felt slightly offended that Gideon was getting more attention than he was.

"The Ripper's still out there. In case you're wondering. It's not Abel." 

Gideon made a dismissive snort and went back to reading. 

Graham then turned to look at Lecter. The corner of his mouth crooked up. "But ... I suppose you knew that." 

Lecter sighed. "I'll be back when you are feeling more forthcoming." He could probably chat with Graham for days, but he did have his own image to worry about. He didn't have time to play.

"Maybe you'd rather I be the one holding the leash?"

Lecter cleared his throat. "I said I'll be back when you are more forthcoming. Good day, Will."


	2. Pheromones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The devil's finest trick is to persuade you that he does not exist." - Charles Baudelaire

“Do I look like I care if the Wolfman Killer is _bored_ , Doctor Lecter?”

"You had an agenda in asking me to speak with him, did you not?" 

Like the leader of a rebellion in a dystopian sci-fi movie, Crawford seemed to have the power to make the walls reverberate around him. His warring desires to be both right and wrong at the same time crashed like waves about the room. He swallowed then nodded in agreement. "I did."

"It was to assess if he could be rehabilitated."

One of those feelings won out. "I suppose I have hope." It wasn't quite clear what feeling was victorious or if it was even welcome.

"To be frank, after everything you've told me my initial impression is that there is hope to be had in this case."

Crawford nodded, his face blank. "Do you think he's still dangerous?"

Lecter considered for a long moment. “I believe he could be useful now that he is in his right mind. He would solve cases.” He paused a moment and added "Most risks are worth it to save lives, correct?" 

“Is that an accusation, Doctor Lecter?” 

Lecter lifted his hands in placation. “Of course not. You had to have a reason for asking me to speak to him. After doing so I think this is a sensible course of action.” He didn't need to directly accuse Crawford of anything. The other man's guilt in the situation was clear in his face and the tension of his shoulders. 

“See to it that it remains that way.” After Hobbs, Graham's kill-count increased fourfold in only two years. It was impossible to ignore that fact and Jack Crawford wore his guilt like a scarlet letter. He gritted his teeth and slumped back down into his high backed office chair. The files were building up, it was true. “You truly believe that his insanity was due to the encephalitis?”

To that Lecter nodded. “Given the fact that he has very few childhood medical records, we are left to conjecture."

"How assured are we of this _conjecture_?" Crawford leaned forward on his desk and steepled his fingers in contemplation. 

"If he contracted a severe case of meningitis as a child and was unable to get proper medical attention, it is entirely possible that the infection never truly went away. I've seen patients who have had sinus infections for over ten years. Ongoing infections of that nature aren't extremely common, but with his upbringing it's entirely likely." He allowed himself a pause to give weight to the rest of his statement.

"Further, according to what Doctor Chilton has provided, I can certainly say that it did nothing to help his sanity. In the end, I'm surprised that he was able to work at all. He would have been overcome by hallucinations, lost time, and suffered from nearly constant migraine level headaches.”

Crawford's expression softened for a microsecond before he replaced his professional mask. “But that doesn't answer my question. Is he a danger to himself or others?”

Lecter leaned forward and smiled. “Without extensive psychotherapy I am unable to say. I do believe, however, that it is a waste of resources to leave a mind like his locked away when it can be of use.”

“What _possible_ incentive would he have to help us?”

“Considering that Graham put many of the people who are in the asylum with him there himself? He may enjoy being rid of them for an hour or two.”

“Excuse me?”

"I wouldn't be able to assist him to the best of my abilities in the environment that he is currently in.” 

Crawford rolled his shoulders and cleared his throat in an effort to calm what otherwise would have been an explosion. “You want to bring him out of the institution.” it wasn't a question.

“With protective custody, of course.”

-+-

Bella Crawford's skin had a glow to it that she knew would not remain. Eventually she'd grow ashen and her skin would feel taunt against her frame. It was a vicious kind of cruelty to know without a doubt that at any moment everything could change and her vibrant life would start to fade. The proud, driven woman that had every man on the Italian coast calling her 'bella' would become wasted and worn. That knowledge was the only thing that had changed between them. 

She leaned on the table and draped her hands delicately over her shoulders.

Jack's wanted to touch her, tell her that regardless of how her life ended, she would always be _his_ Bella. She didn't wish to tell him about her fears as numerous as they were. Jack, for his part couldn't talk about his own. Instead, he took to telling her everything about work. Work was a safe topic, something that they could pick apart instead of focusing on their joint, uncommunicative pain.

"Even with a police escort..." Bella cleared her throat and stared at the empty space between them. "...what is Doctor Lecter thinking?"

"What I told him to think, I'd imagine." Jack lifted the wine bottle and shook it. Barely a glass was left swishing around the bottom. He debated opening a second bottle, but settled back into his chair instead. He recalled telling Lecter about his close relationship with Graham, the trust he had put into the other man. He'd described an awkward man who spent most of his time caring for dogs and saving people's lives. Part of Jack worried that he'd given Lecter too much hope.

"I still can't..." Bella looked at the chair next to Jack's. She couldn't help but think about the countless times that Graham had come over for dinner. "He was in our house. He..."

"He stayed here when I was working late. Slept on our couch. Stayed up with you. Alone." Jack poured the rest of the wine bottle out into their glasses.

“He was our friend.” Bella finished simply. “A good friend.” She clenched her jaw and drew herself up with a deep breath. “Do you think Doctor Lecter is right and it was an infection that caused everything?”

"I-" Jack looked down and frowned. "Winston, do know how much these slacks cost?"

Winston wagged his tail as he rested his head on Jack's leg. When Graham was arrested his dogs had been an issue. There were ten of them. Jack and Bella took Winston while other members of his team were caring for the rest of the pack. No one could bare to see the animals put down knowing what they meant to Graham. 

And those emotions were something else that was impossible for them to communicate. Jack patted Winston's head. "I'm going to take him out."

Bella nodded. She didn't bother to watch as Winston and Jack left the room, the click of the dog's nails and the sliding door were the only sounds that marked their passing. 

-+-

Dr. Alana Bloom had sharp wit and soft femininity in equal measure. She was also one of the few people who Lecter truly enjoyed the company of. By coincidence, she had also been close with Will Graham before he had been arrested as the Wolfman Killer. Conferring with her would benefit Lecter in two ways. Firstly, getting someone of her reputation to agree with him would be a feather in his cap.

"And you're sure that this is ... that it was all the infection brought on by his autoimmune disorder?" 

"That's certainly a possibility. But I do not know him as well as you do." Lecter offered Bloom a beer. "But he is an asset and... apparently very likable. Don't you have two of his dogs?" Secondly, he could make the whole idea of Graham's release seem like her idea

Bloom nodded and tucked her hair behind an ear. "I do."

"You are a good friend, Alana." The world was much more interesting with someone like her in existence in Lecter's opinion.

"So was he... I... that's what makes this so hard for everyone. We don't even talk to each other much anymore. It's as if he died. We used to feel so safe with him. And now." She took a long drink of her beer, a hand crafted item that Lecter kept on stock just for her. She contemplated the color before continuing in a distant and somewhat horrified tone. "All the while he went hunting." She made a face with the final word. Bloom obviously felt that the serial killing part of Graham's life was distasteful. It contrasted strongly to how she spoke after. "I really do ...miss him."

"You have to realize that the hunter is not Will, never was. It was his brain slowly trying to erase him." Between the two of them, Bloom saw something distasteful. Lecter saw so much raw potential. Of course, the Will Graham that cared for his friends and the Will Graham that murdered people was the same person. But most humans couldn't understand that kind of double-think. They lacked the ability to compartmentalize cleanly. "You seemed to have cared for him something... extra?"

Bloom was not as easy to fool as men like Chilton were. She took another drink of her beer and sighed. "Once. But I know that I can't help him. I would spend too much time trying to change who he is, even without the fifteen years he was killing people." 

She would try to change him because she couldn't understand him. Lecter didn't want to change Graham. He wanted to sharpen him, enhance him. Lecter wanted to elevate Will Graham in a way that no one else could. He put his hand on hers, a gesture that most people would find comforting. "He had an evil shadow at his back, figuratively speaking. The man you cared for is still there." 

The further that Lecter got into his study of Graham and the people around him the more excited he became. This was a man that everyone wanted to be free. A man that inspired trust and loyalty in those around him. All Lecter had to do was push; provide a sympathetic angle. If Graham was half as loyal as he appeared, then this could become something extraordinary.

"I'm willing to look if there is a chance." She sighed. "I just... I know that if he started killing people again that it will be our fault."

That earned a solemn nod. "We do have a grave responsibility. But how can we sit still and watch a man who may not have been conscious of his actions serve time for crimes that he wasn't aware that he was actually committing?"

Bloom considered for a long while, a mix of emotions flashed across her face, betrayal, fear, but not anger. "Jack will need to have a lot of evidence."

-+-

The setting sunlight cast an almost romantic glow about Chilton's office. An orderly opened the door to assist Graham in getting into the room. He breathed in the scent of the room. For a moment, he could almost taste the pears that were growing on the tree outside. Graham's hands were cuffed in front of him and his ankles were chained together impeding his movement. Graham flopped to the chair in front of Chilton's impressive desk. 

"You can leave us." Chilton informed the orderly while looking directly at the bookshelf.

Graham knew that Chilton was afraid of him. He could see it in the depths of the man's marbled eyes. Chilton could keep his expression gemstone hard, but it was no matter to Graham. Chilton knew that as well, it had to be why he was focused on the bookshelf and not on the man he'd summoned to his office. For his own part, Graham was dying of curiosity.

"What, _precisely_ have you been talking to Doctor Lecter about?"

"Is that bookshelf interesting?"

Chilton turned around, the annoyance plain on his face. "Mr. Graham, what have you been talking about with Doctor Lecter?"

Graham took a deep breath and allowed himself to let go and plunge into that pair of serpentine eyes. The emotions in them slithered around, anger attempted to consume fear, but like the staff of Moses apprehension won out. It swallowed up the anger and rolled it into something akin to fear in Chilton's belly. The feeling reached out to Graham and took a familiar form. He had it "what's Doctor Lecter got on you?

Chilton shuddered and broke eye contact. He took a deep breath and maintained steady outward composure. But when he spoke, he sounded as though he felt fully violated. "This isn't about me. If you think that you're going to get yourself loose by being charming, then you're wrong, Will. You're very wrong."

″I hardly think that one conversation with a doctor is going to get me out. Unless he's really that much more respected than you are in the field.”

“And what would you know about anything like that?” Chilton snapped. He refused to meet Graham's eyes again.

"Probably nothing." Graham quipped. If he had not been bound he would have relaxed against the chair, legs splayed out like a cat in the setting sunbeams. "Didn't your reports say that I had arrested mental development anyway?"

“You're a textbook psychopath. Don't delude yourself otherwise.” Chilton used his fingers to tick off points. “No mother, dysfunctional childhood, low level of education, travel. The only flag you didn't throw was cruelty to animals.”

"I like dogs.” Graham responded.

“Because you're incapable of understanding people.” He then pointed at Graham. “You're not smart enough to play this game with actual doctors, Mr. Graham. If you think you're going to get one over on us, you're mistaken.”

“So this is about my illness then? I mean, all that medical mumbo jumbo is just beyond my fragile little brain, right?" Graham was irritated, he hated it when people assumed he was stupid simply from lack of breeding. It tended to make him sarcastic and snipey.

“And thus you trying to use it to your advantage is going to backfire.”

“Maybe I'm not the one using anything.”

Chilton opened the door and motioned to the orderly waiting outside, “Get him out of here.” Chilton swallowed and let out a breath after the door closed behind Graham and his escort. His stomach twisted and Chilton couldn't put his finger on exactly why. He wasn't used to anxiety.

He pushed his pager button. “Get me Doctor Lecter.”


	3. Establishing the Buffer Zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it." - Flannery O'Connor

"I apologize for only being able to meet you so late in the day, Fredrick." Lecter held up a box containing a Courvoisier L’Esprit Decanter and patted a cooler that hung from a strap about his shoulders. "Peace offerings?"

Chilton stood up graciously. "A rare treat indeed to have personal bottle and dinner service from Doctor Hannibal Lecter. Let me clear some space."

"You mentioned that you had some concerns about Mr. Graham?" Lecter sat out the assorted Mikasa serving wear. His matching set was in 'crown jewel' and the delicate scroll work on the silver edges glistened as if it had been newly polished. Despite its shine, Lecter ran a cloth napkin about the edges before he plated the meal.

"I do, but first, what did you bring?"

"Duck confit with mushrooms in an apricot glaze." Lecter primly sat himself down at Chilton's desk and smiled. "To pair with the cognac. I find it best to discuss problems over a meal." The meat aroma steamed in curls out of the dish artfully; he then tipped the lids onto their tops so no moisture would intrude upon Chilton's desk.

Chilton delicately gripped the Knightsbridge flat wear and slowly cut into the meat before him. Using his knife, he slid some of the glaze and mushroom up onto the prongs of his fork. "Breaking bread for even ground." Chilton agreed before he took a moment to savor the flavor of the meal before him. After a pleased sigh he sipped the drink in his glass and got to his point. "This is an excellent apology, perhaps I should endeavor to be insulted more often."

"Careful, Fredrick, wouldn't want to take advantage of my hospitality." Lecter took a similar bite of the meal and raised his glass to Chilton in toast. "I'll make sure to have you at the next dinner party."

"I will look forward to it." Chilton nodded. He then took another bite before continuing with his original point. "I have my doubts about Will Graham's insanity defense."

"I hardly believe that one can be in control of one's faculties while the right hemisphere of their brain is compressed against his skull. It's a miracle that there hasn't been long term damage."

"That's very true, but Graham is a singularly fascinating case. He does have an autoimmune disorder that makes him especially prone to infection. Whatever began this, I have no way to know, but I wonder if his crimes were a result of his illness or if the illness was simply a convenient excuse."

Lecter considered Chilton's points. "Let us say that the brain could, perhaps, push someone to do the things that Graham did. Have you gotten any studies to show the change in his cognitive abilities while he was being treated?"

Chilton quirked an eyebrow, but then nodded. "Of course, but now that's he's stabilized, he's become increasingly uncooperative." Chilton cut off another bit and smiled as he swallowed. "How do you get duck to taste like this? It's melting in my mouth."

"When I was a boy I studied cooking in France. You'd be amazed how carefully they handle meats of all varieties." Lecter studied one of the mushrooms a moment. "And he was more… cooperative while he was ill?" 

"Yes, and his logic connections were erratic, but much more pronounced than they are now." Chilton chuckled. "Perhaps he has reached his expiration date."

"Unfortunate that we have no real way of determining if he needs to have an infection on the brain to make those leaps of logic." Lecter sipped his drink; the ice cubes made a pleasing clink in his glass. "Medically speaking, how is he now?"

"Normal, but he will need to be medicated for the foreseeable future. He's prone to relapse besides. Relapsing would likely mean re-offending.." Chilton waved his fork as his voice drifted off. "Though I can't be sure of that as he's under appropriate medical care now."

Lecter made an intrigued sound and set his glass down. "That truly _is_ fascinating. It is a shame you can't ethically prove that theory, isn't it?"

The question lingered as Chilton sipped his drink. "I've considered that, trust me. It would be a breakthrough study on the effects of long term autoimmune disorders, infections, and the human mind." He sighed and cast a glance at his filing cabinet. "But perhaps it's not worth the risk."

"What if I could provide a way for you to share the burden, so to speak?" Lecter asked pointedly. "If he is released into the custody of the FBI for example?"

Possibilities appeared to dance in Chilton's mind for a moment before self preservation kicked in. "What would you get out of that arrangement? Is it worth your time?"

″That would be benefit of the time being mine." Lecter dabbed his mouth with his napkin. "I may waste it as I see fit.″

"You want in on the book deal." 

Lecter smiled at Chilton as though he'd been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. "Can you blame me?"

"Then you've some work to do. He's taken to fighting in the yard."

Graham appeared far too in control of himself to slip into fits of uncontrolled violence. Lecter arched an eyebrow as he wondered aloud, ″What happened?″

″Are you familiar with Dolarhyde?″ Chilton sat back contentedly in his seat. 

"The Tooth Fairy? Of course I am, it was quite the case."

"Graham was the one to catch him. I imagine that Dolarhyde saw an in and took it."

That made sense. Lecter sighed. ″Self defense is hardly initiating violence.″

″But, it does prove that Graham still a capacity for it. To complete my-- _our_ \--study, we need to argue that he can be released and remain docile.″ 

"If I may be so bold, Fredrick, I believe that most of us have a capacity for violence." Lecter sipped down the last of his cognac. "Society forgives protecting one's self from the harm of another." Lecter stood and refilled both men's drinks. "Between the two of us, I'm quite interested in how Graham's case study could play out."

″That makes two of us. He'll need more PR than you may be able to get him." Chilton swirled the cognac. "Will Graham has all of the markers of a serial killer. Absent parental figure, transient lifestyle, low level of education, difficulty connecting with people an-″

″People, however, seem to have no difficulty connecting with him.″

″I beg your pardon?″

″Will Graham still has some very loyal friends. Despite what he has done, they hold onto hope that he truly was unwell. They are willing to work with any possibility that he is rehabilitation ready.″ Lecter pulled out another covered plate and began to replace his dishes into his bag.

"What else will we have to contend with?" Chilton finished his plate with a contented sigh. "He's thankfully only well known in deed, not in person." Due to the extremely high profile of everyone involved in the Wolfman case, Crawford had succeeded in claiming a press blackout. He reasoned that it was to protect everyone's safety and assure that Graham had a fair trial. 

"Thankfully he does not have to hide his face." Lecter responded in agreement. It would have been a shame to hide that particular face.

"It is true that the press blackout kept Graham's private details from being out to the general public." Chilton assisted by handing his own dishes over to Lecter. "Despite that, there have been leaks to the public. People will know who they are looking at."

Lecter unveiled a classic crème brûlée for desert by sitting a tray before Chilton and lifting for a bit of dramatic effect. "I think that the details are foggy enough that we could get away with pushing Graham back outside. We will be paying very close attention, after all." Once loose, Lecter had ideas on how Graham would react. In the back of his mind he pictured releasing a wolf from a leg trap; it was up to the wolf if it responded with gratitude or with fangs.

Chilton admired the way that the top of the brûlée caramelized under Lecter's blowtorch. "So we are in this together?"

Lecter sat the dessert in front of Chilton. "But of course." 

-+-

She knew better than to expect cat calls, but Beverly Katz swallowed anyway as she walked up the vast stone steps and into the asylum. Something about the whole building set her teeth on edge and made her feel like she was being watched. 

Katz clutched a case file tightly in her hands. This particular case bothered her. It was too close to the way that the Wolfman left his victims and it obviously couldn't be the Wolfman if Graham was sitting in the Baltimore Home for the Criminally Insane. It left her with the fleeting hope that maybe Graham really was more innocent than they thought. There was just something _off_ about the whole way the bodies were layed out at the scene. Whatever that thing happened to be, however, was like catching smoke.

Thankfully Katz was of the opinion that it was better to ask for forgiveness than beg for permission. She checked her gun, her badge, her pens, and then even her hair sticks. “Any reason for the mega lock-down?” she asked the tired looking orderly.

The orderly shrugged as she unceremoniously dropped Katz's belongings into a bin. “Some of the inmates got into it in the yard.” She then offered the flat smile of a person who was at the end of a twelve hour shift. 

“Who?” 

“I can't tell you that, Agent Katz.”

“Sure you can, Agent Katz is Korean for 'I can get a warrant'.” She smiled her most serious and agent-like smile. “I just want to know if it's about Will Graham.”

The orderly finally answered after she looked around to wait to see if anyone was watching. “He was jumped in the yard, yes. Dolarhyde got something up his ass and they went at it.”

“Is he okay?” She fought to keep her voice from raising.

“He's fine" the orderly nodded. "A little beat up, but I'm not supposed to talk about it. You'll have to ask him.” She pushed the visitor's badge across the counter. “It's good you're visiting him. I think that he's getting lonely." She bit her lip nervously "I'm running out of books to bring him." 

Katz was too polite to mention the blush that crept up the orderly's cheeks. At the same time Katz knew that Graham could be charming in the right situations. She'd never considered him the sort of person to garner blushes from orderlies, but Graham just wasn't really her type. 

She didn't like the silence that thundered around her as she passed the glass and metal cells. As one of the foremost forensics scientists for the FBI she knew everyone down here by dossier. Dolarhyde, she noted, had his wrist in a sling. The air was tense among the inmates, shoulders rolled and bodies paced. It did nothing to help the unsettling atmosphere.

In his cell at the end of the hall, Graham didn't look much worse for wear aside from a black eye and a bruise that swept up his collarbone and neck. He wasn't nearly as pale as the last time she had seen him. He looked _at_ her, not around her and his eyes lit up when he recognized her. “Bev! I... I didn't expect to see you.”

Katz couldn't help but stare. The bruise was pronounced and nearly black in places, but Graham had filled out during his lockup. He had a strong set to his jaw, his shoulders broader and his eyes were clear, unfaltering, and secure. It certainly explained the orderly blushing. It wasn't as if the Graham she remembered was unattractive, however, he'd always been on the sickly side. It wasn't obvious to her exactly _how_ sick Graham had been tills he saw him before her, healthy. "You look great,″ was all she could manage to say.

Graham laughed. "Well, in this trendy outfit with my new tattoo and all."

"You're not funny." Katz responded. "I'm serious, you do look good. I had no idea you were that sick."

Graham cleared his throat and nodded. "For most of my life... apparently.″

The chair made a soft, scratching sound as Katz pulled it up so she could sit down. She smiled back. ″...really?″

″Yeah. I mean, when I was like-" Graham's eyes slid up to the left as he searched his personal history "-six or so I got this real bad infection, but dad didn't ever get a chance to take me to a doctor. Looks like it never really went away.″ He leaned forward on the cot in a similar pose to Katz. Graham looked like he wanted to get up and touch her.

She couldn't help but sound excited. ″Till now.″

″Till now.″

Katz wanted to hug him so badly. She wanted to tell him that they'd never really given up on him. None of this was appropriate. Even though Katz would be delighted to see Graham free, it was too optimistic. ″Will... I … I should have visited sooner. I suppose I didn't know what to expect.″ She fumbled with the file that she brought with her.

Graham's face fell slightly. ″You came because you need something.″

Guilt washed over her. Katz clenched her jaw. ″I'm sorry.″ She looked away.

″Jack sent you?″

″Are you kidding? He's going to like, ground me for a month.″

″So you did want to see me.″

She locked eyes with him. It startled her how strange that felt. Graham had avoided eye contact with her in the past, but now he reached into her like a lapidarist sorting thru precious stones. He seemed pleased with what he saw and for her part, Katz had nothing to offer him but sincerity. ″Of course I did, Will. We're friends.″ She lifted the file in her hand ″But I do... want ...we need help.″

Whatever Graham had been looking for within Katz's eyes it must have pleased him as his expression softened before he spoke. ″I'd love to help you, Bev. I'm bored out of my mind here.″ He motioned. ″Let's see what you have.″

Katz started pulling photos from the folder. She taped the first one up against the glass. "Ronnie Baker, female. Aged thirty." The scene was staged, absolutely. The body had been moved from where it fell. At the very least she had been posed. The gash across her neck did not match with the way the blood was splattered around her. There was no fan-fair to how she'd been laid out, but it seemed like the killer had at least thought about her position, even if they didn't understand it. "Whoever attacked her didn't take her down cleanly. She's covered in defensive wounds. Cause of death was a knife wound to the throat." 

"What organs are missing?"

"Hey, I'm getting there!" Katz chastised teasingly. "Ronnie Baker was missing her heart." She then pulled out a second picture. This one was very different in minor details. The body had not been moved after the victim had been killed. The man had no defensive wounds. This strike was clean, singular, and far more practiced. Katz tapped it up next to the first. "And Mr Arnold Swift is missing his liver."

"Different killers." 

Katz clicked her tongue. "You sure?"

"The first one took the time to pose their victim. They're unsure. Second one didn't. He-" Graham's voice drifted off and he closed his eyes "-he's an artist. The other an amateur." 

"Can we not talk like that?"

Graham looked startled at himself. "Ah… sorry." 

"Okay, so how about this one." She pinned up one last photo. This was another staged body that had been moved after he'd been killed. The details seemed to jump out as Graham as he focused on it. Katz had a feeling he'd already noticed that one of the hands had been cut off while the victim was alive and the other one had been taken postmortem. 

Graham motioned to the picture, "can I have that?"

She nodded and slipped the photograph thru the slits in the glass. 

Graham focused on the image and then his blue eyes drifted closed. He took a deep breath and drew himself up to stand completely straight. His mouth twitched slightly and his closed eyes winked. Graham swayed from side to side slightly like a reed in a breeze. The gentle motion snapped to a halt and his face twitched in pain. He sucked in a breath thru clenched teeth.

"Will!"

He shook his head started as if he had been awakened from a trance. "S-sorry."

Katz's eyebrows were knitted together in worry. Her jaw clenched a moment "where do you go when you do that?"

"You don't want to come with me."

In that moment she wanted to throw everything back in her file and throw it down so he wouldn't have to do that thing of his. Watching his face and the way he slipped into the mindset of a killer was more than a little creepy. She wished that there was a way to go with him to that place if for no other reason than to bring him back safely. 

"Stop worrying about me. I want to help" 

Katz cleared her throat and didn't comment on how it felt like he'd read her mind. "Is this the same killer?"

The photo passed back between the slits. Graham shook his head ″...maybe.″

″Maybe?″ Katz crossed her arms over her chest. ″Maybe's not good enough, Will. Don't string me along.″

″How do you know I'm stringing?″ Graham peeked around the side of the photographs so he could be directly in Katz's line of sight.

″Because you're the best.″

″I'll need more to go on and...″ he looked up at the camera's red light as it flashed over Katz's shoulder. ″less cameras.″

Katz began plucking the photographs off of the glass and slid them into the file. She then passed it through the bottom of the cell door. ″Well, here's some light reading. I'll... see what I can do.″ She nodded at him and then turned to go.

Graham called after her. ″Tell Jack I really am sorry? He knows I'd never hurt Bella.″

She swallowed. ″I don't know that Jack's ready to talk to you, Will. He might never be.″ She cut him off before he could say anything else. ″Just, stick in there and behave, okay? I'll do what I can do.″

″Thank you.″ Graham waved the folder after her. 

-+-

All of the patients were restless that day. Lock-down hadn't been kind to them, evidently. Lecter heard a scuffle off to his left down a hall. He was going to ignore it till he heard an orderly yell. After that he could hear footsteps slamming in his direction. Lecter could smell some raging desperation to be noticed. He rolled his shoulder to catch Gideon as the other man attempted to tackle him to the ground. The rolling motion kept Lecter upright though they both crashed into the wall beside him. He slammed the heel of his shoe into the insole of Gideon's bare foot and was singularly pleased at the pained yelp that resulted. Before Lecter could follow through with a hard left Agent Katz showed up and shoved Gideon out of the way and into the arms of the advancing control team. ″Watch your patients!″ She snapped.

Lecter was smoothing his hair when she turned around. 

″Doctor Lecter. Are you alright?″ Katz wiped off the shoulders of his suit and looked up into his face. She must have seen something in Lecter's expression and turned to look at the retreating Doctor Gideon. ″Did... you know Doctor Gideon professionally?″

″Many years ago, in passing.″ He could tell that he looked mussed and that bothered Lecter. ″What do I owe the pleasure of rescue to, Agent Katz?″

She cleared her throat. ″Promise to not tell Jack?″

″You were speaking with Will.″ It wasn't a question.

Katz nodded. ″We need his help, Doctor. And... and I don't know." She swallowed and looked away at a wall. "I can't even explain it. None of us are really 'right' in the head."

"What makes you say that?″ He took a half step away from the wall and tilted his head in concern. Katz never wore perfume, her own scent was strong and reminded him of the edge of the city at sunrise.

She smirked and cocked her hip with a shift in weight. ″We speak for dead people, Doctor Lecter. It takes a very special brain to do that.″

″Is that what Will has?″

She considered. ″No, I think the dead people speak _to_ him. In whatever way they can.″

″And you find this abnormal?″ He hadn't exactly written Katz off as uninteresting, she simply wasn't as dangerous as other people with her intellectual abilities. She lacked the raw potential that Lecter looked for in his companions. 

″Of course I do. But the world needs abnormal people. Without us then it would just be good and evil.″

″Black and white notions bother you?″

She laughed. ″I should get going, if we talk any longer you're liable to bill me.″

″If you do need to talk, I think you will find my rates quite reasonable.″


	4. Hierarchy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My memory is a patchwork of occurrences, of discontinuous events roughly sewn together: The parts I remember, I remember precisely, whilst other sections seemed to have vanished completely.”  
> ― Neil Gaiman, Smoke and Mirrors

The situation could have been far worse if Katz hadn't intervened when she did. The last thing Lecter wanted was to get out of control in the Baltimore Home for the Criminally Insane.When he sat down down, there was a clear air of annoyance on his face, mostly due to the fact that his tie had gotten slightly askew with Gideon's scuffle. He took a breath to collect himself before addressing Graham. "So you're getting into fights now?" Lecter smoothed out the tie after he spoke.

"Looks like I'm not the only one." Graham's bruise coursed up his neck from his collarbone and arched along his cheek. Lecter could have likened it to Ivan Konstantinovich Aivazovsky's paintings of the sunset over a stormy sea that he'd studied in his youth. Had he been the painter of this particular picture he would have absolutely included Graham's eye; it gleamed out intense and impossible to hide from. "And I finished that fight. I was reading when he hit me."

Lecter ignored the first comment and crossed his ankle over his knee, sitting back into the cheap folding chair. "Dolarhyde is a brute. A simple brute. You are much too intelligent to be finishing fights with someone you should be wary of. He has no fondness for you."

"Well, I'm the reason he's here and not out blissfully murdering whole families." He gingerly touched his collar bone. "He hits like a train, by the way." Graham pulled the zipper down on his jumper. When the cool air caressed the still-tender parts of his shoulder he sighed. The soft white tee-shirt that he wore underneath the jumper was obviously more comfortable on its own. 

"Perhaps if there is a request we can make to ensure your safety in these sorts of situations?"

Graham considered before he shook his head. "Short of not letting me outside, no."

"Perhaps keeping you isolated would be safest, considering." Lecter searched Graham's face and body language carefully. He had to be delicate about this situation still. Graham needed to depend on him. He looked at the set of Graham's shoulders, eyed his jaw for tension, and watched his hands as they grasped each other loosely. Graham was tense, ill-at-ease, and unlikely to be plotting anything. Not yet, at least. 

Graham turned his eyes up at Lecter. The pierce was gone from his gaze. Instead he looked soft and almost pleading. He seemed to fight with that idea a moment before he gave in. He was almost reaching to Lecter with his eyes to help him; to save him. "I don't want to be in isolation. It's just that…" Graham's voice trailed off and he looked at the floor beneath his feet. His shoulders curled inward defensively. "I can't seem to get them to understand that I'm not psychic."

Lecter almost wanted to believe Graham. It was more than inappropriately tempting to think that he could be half-tamed and open to suggestion. Lecter swallowed the urge to get up and lean into the glass where he could breathe in Graham's scent. He wanted to take that sensation into himself to get a clearer image of what the future may hold. Instead he continued their conversation, "your perception about people gets you in trouble it seems." 

"People get themselves in trouble, doctor. They're..." Graham's voice trailed off and he rolled his palms up and shrugged his shoulders as he searched for a word "...all patterns. Predictable".

Lecter could see where the conversation was leaning. "You consider Dolarhyde predictable then?" 

The dark side of Graham's face quirked up when he smirked. "What do you think?"

"I think, Will" Lecter leaned forward then, mirroring Graham's position "that you would be put in isolation because you are far more dangerous than someone with a predictable pattern." 

"Dangerous?" Graham sat up straight and swallowed. For a moment he looked distinctly afraid. "I thought that you were working on my rehabilitation." He tapped the case file that was beside him on his cot. "You had to have bumped into Bev while you were checking in?"

Lecter nodded. "I did." 

"She wouldn't have been asking me for help if she didn't think that I would be around to help her." 

"Is she so practical?" Lecter felt that gathering data on Graham's circle of friends could only be beneficial.

"Beverly is extremely practical. She's also sharp and wants to solve cases." Graham picked the file up and flipped through it. "And she seems to think that I'll be rejoining the team eventually." He didn't seem to find anything of value in the file and sat it back down. "It was a nice visit."

Lecter smiled. Graham was probably a terror to keep a hold of out in the wild, it would be thrilling to see what could happen. By simply talking to him Lecter was collecting game pieces to set up and knock down in experimental fashion. "She was a good friend of yours, right?" 

"She _is_ a good friend of mine." Graham shrugged off the one side of the jumper entirely to let the sore skin breathe. "I appreciate her insight; she can be abrasive and aggressive, but she needs to be in her position." He rolled his free shoulder and sighed, then waved the file at Lecter. "If they want me to help I'll need more than this."

Chilton's theory on Graham's abilities was admittedly a decent one, but there appeared to be some holes in it already. "I was under the impression that you shouldn't be getting these 'hits' any longer."

Graham stood up slowly. The side of the prison jumper that he had shrugged off slipped down so that the arm dangled behind him. The exposed part of his body was accented by the snugly-fitted white tee. He closed the distance from his cot to the glass in two smooth, silent strides. His calloused hands pressed forward onto the glass where he leaned forward. Any begging or soft pleading had fled his eyes. He peered directly into Lecter. "Trust me, Doctor Lecter. I've never been clearer."

Lecter shifted in his seat. These actions felt like flirtation, a dangerous invitation which awoke his more bloody desires. He couldn't leave the invitation alone without responding "so where are the proclamations of the master detective?" 

Graham pushed back on the glass. "'Lass' Sie immer mehr wollen'. My accent's probably bad, but isn't that what PT Barnum said?" He crossed his arms over his chest. ″What do you expect me to do with just three pictures, Doctor?″

"Your accent is completely off, but yes, 'always leave them wanting more' is the sort of thing a manipulative showman would say." Lecter smiled before he leaned forward in a calculating manner. "Are you trying to manipulate me, Will?"

Graham looked hurt. "Why would I do that when you and I are on the same page?" He bit the inside of his cheek in thought and then added "team mates."

"Team 'save Will Graham'?" Lecter prodded with his words.

"Who are we saving me from?" Graham turned his back to Lecter and leaned back against the glass. Lecter could see the strong muscles of his exposed arm flex. Graham was clearly very aware of his own body and wanted to make sure that Lecter was aware of it as well. 

Graham directed the conversation back to the original topic. "To be honest, I don't do my best work from photographs. My procedure is…involved. From what I've got I can tell Bev that she's dealing with two different killers but not much more."

"That's quite impressive for a few pictures, but what else can you tell me?" Lecter probed.

"Of the three scenes she showed me, two were staged. The other one was… more natural." Graham waved a hand to the side a bit "it was a reflex, not an afterthought."

Lecter cocked his chin up and looked at the back of Graham's head. "Natural?" 

"Yes, natural. They had an artistry to their movements." Graham turned around again to look at Lecter. "They painted with the body, but allowed the blood to flow without fettering it or controlling where it pooled. It was almost pure in comparison. A font of creativity, if you were." 

"That's an extremely romantic description of a copycat, Will."

Graham shook his head and laughed. "No, no. this is no copycat. This was an invitation." 

Lecter couldn't allow himself to show how pleased he felt. "For you?"

"Maybe." Graham sat down again and leaned back against the wall. his His legs splayed open in a self-assured manner. "Maybe it's for anyone who could pay attention and recognize him for what he is." 

Lecter pulled out a notepad and made a show of taking notes. "What was it that you found most inviting?"

Graham waved a finger and made a tsch sound as he clacked his tongue. "I never said I found it inviting." 

"But do you?"

After clearing his throat, Graham continued, ignoring Lecter's question. "One person imitated. They did exactly what they thought they were supposed to do. Every movement they made was reaching out to appease their audience. They weren't being genuine in the medium, so they left hesitation marks."

"Hesitation marks as in they didn't make clear cuts or?"

"The bodies weren't moved fast enough after they were opened. They _spilled_. They were an imitator, not truly a copycat, but-" Graham walked back to his cot and sat down. "I suppose you could call them a fanfiction writer."

Lecter wasn't familiar with the term and he blinked. "I'm afraid you'll have to explain." 

"You know, when kids in school write about themselves in Star Trek?"

"I suppose I would understand that concept." Lecter admitted. Boys in boarding school had many ways of entertaining themselves, fanfiction was apparently among them. "So the killer admires something and gets inspired so they write themselves into the story?"

"They're not a very good writer either." Graham glanced from side to side and continued "lacks any real _soul_."

Lecter raised an eyebrow. "That's pretty good for someone who can't get a very good read from photographs. Perhaps you just need some counterpoints?"

"I can't do that here, Doctor Lecter. I'd need to have room to work were I wasn't being studied." His eyes darted up towards the camera pointed at his cell.

Lecter snorted. "Chilton is hardly _studying _in my approximation. He's grasping, yes." He was fumbling with Graham like a teenage boy in the back of his father's car.__

__"He'd love an excuse to poke at me more and I don't want to give it to him." Graham hissed. He turned his glare from the camera to Lecter. Graham wasn't looking into Lecter at that moment. Instead the inviting clarity was replaced with an iron veil. "Is that what you think of me too? A case study?"_ _

__"Of course you are not a case study. You are... interesting to talk to." He wasn't lying; case studies were for papers that deficient academics wanted to see. Interesting conversation was a reason change one's day._ _

__Graham stared at Lecter for a quite time. "Maybe we could go over this in your office? If someone has to watch my mind work, I want it to be someone who appreciates what they're seeing."_ _

__"Perhaps." Will certainly knew how to flatter him. Lecter enjoyed the amount of attention he paid to his intellect, but without the usual sycophantic fawning. Will Graham had been painfully under-utilized by everyone around him, and Lecter hated to see him go to waste. "I shall see what I can do."_ _

__"And I'll do my best to not get into any fights. Scouts honor."_ _

__-+-_ _

__Katz fidgeted from in front of Crawford's desk. She was the picture of a caught student standing before the superintendent's wrath. Crawford ignored her for a moment so she could stew longer. Slowly, he flipped his copy of the file she'd given Graham closed. "Can you tell me why you're tapping convicted killers in the help with a murderer who is _copycatting_ them?"_ _

__She clenched her jaw and didn't flinch. She felt secure in her choice to talk to Graham. "We need the help and he's the best, Jack. You know it and I know it." Katz then braced herself for the thunder that she thought was coming._ _

__It didn't. Instead Crawford took a deep breath and nodded. "That's true, I suppose."_ _

__His soft acceptance caught Katz off guard. "...I'm not grounded?"_ _

__"Oh, you're grounded. You don't go poking your nose back in that asylum with case files unless expressly told to. Understand?"_ _

__"Jack-" She hadn't intended it to, but her voice came out in the same tone Katz used to have when her mother told her to practice the violin._ _

__Crawford did sound rather like her father. "I will put you under escort, Beverly. Do you want that?"_ _

__"No."_ _

__"Then keep your visits with Will Graham personal."_ _

__Katz smiled, "you serious?"_ _

__"What are you smiling about?"_ _

__"You said his name."_ _

__Crawford bit the inside of his cheek. "I suppose that I did." He motioned to Katz with his pen. "Don't get his hopes up, understand? Visit him. If you feel like something is off, you tell me."_ _

__"Isn't that what Doctor Lecter is for?" Katz shifted her weight to one hip and crossed her arms under her chest._ _

__"You know him. Doctor Lecter doesn't." Crawford said simply. "You're off for the rest of the day, have lunch."_ _

__-+-_ _

__The clanging glasses in the bistro obscured the sound of her heels across the patio. Red hair bounced with each step as Lounds came up beside Katz who was looking over the lunch menu. "You're Agent Katz, right?" Freddie Lounds was trying to find some information for a story she'd been working on for over a year. She knew that Katz had the information, but she needed to worm her way in before she'd spill. She lifted one shoulder in a flirty manner and allowed her hands to fumble with her clutch so she appeared slightly nervous._ _

__Katz didn't bother looking at Lounds and sipped her water while looking at the salad section. "You fucked a friend of mine over with your tabloid bullshit, Lounds. Don't pretend I don't know that."_ _

__Beverly Katz was intimidating in her competency and her focus. She was also probably not someone who could be easily swayed by pretty hair and smiles. However, you couldn't blame Lounds for trying. "You mean Zi. I... that really wasn't as much as he made it out to be."_ _

__"Well, at least you remembered his name. I'm trying to enjoy a Saturday brunch, so what do you want?"_ _

__"May I buy you lunch?"_ _

__Katz's eyes narrowed as she considered. "Fine, but I'm ordering big then."_ _

__Lounds smiled tightly. She expected that sort of rub. That's what credit was for. "I wanted to ask you about Will Graham." When Katz looked slightly shocked, then concerned, Lounds felt a thrill rise up her spine. She was onto something. Now she just had to dig it out._ _

__"What about him?" Katz pulled the menu up to obscure her face. She had to be hiding something. There was always a reason for someone to act uncomfortable._ _

__Lounds sat and crossed her legs; one of the colors in her brightly patterned tights matched the bold color of her jacket. "Well, he's been ... MIA, for lack of a better word, what happened?"_ _

__"He's no longer with us."_ _

__The bluntness of that comment struck Lounds as strange. "Did he pass away?"_ _

__Katz dropped the menu. "What? No, just... he's been sick. Not that kind of sick. Look, leave him alone."_ _

__The waiter came and Lounds fought back making a face as Katz ordered a fifteen dollar glass of wine and the three most expensive things on the menu. She ordered a salad and water. "You can't even eat that much." Lounds bemoaned after the waiter left._ _

__"Oh, is that a challenge?" Katz leaned back in her chair. "Because I'm sure I can."_ _

__Lound's well manicured hands lifted up in a surrendering motion. "No, no, I believe you. But... what do you mean, sick? He dropped off the map when the Wolfman thing came to a head around this time last year."_ _

__"What, exactly, are you trying to get me to say, Lounds?" Katz snapped. She was clearly losing her patience with her lunch companion._ _

__After the first part of brunch was laid out, Lounds sighed. "I think Will Graham is the Wolfman Killer. That's why you obstructed the freedom of the press."_ _

__"That's not what 'freedom of the press' means, and you know it." Katz chomped down on a carrot._ _

__"He'd be a sensation."_ _

__"He's _sick_. Do you understand what that word means? Ill."_ _

__"How sick? Is he going to be back?" The bread sticks were good at least, Lounds was glad they were free._ _

__After a decadent looking sip of wine, Katz shrugged. "Hopefully. He's still seeing a doctor."_ _

__The pause was more than slightly uncomfortable. Lounds knew she had to bide her time. Unlike her male colleagues, Katz may leave her with a black eye and no information if Lounds pushed too hard. "I suppose I understand the press blackout. I mean... it's not like the Wolfman was killing Nobel Prize winning humanitarians." When Katz didn't respond, Lounds continued, "Out of the ninety victims not one of them was really an upstanding person. Arsonists, cheaters, all around violent individuals and over ten rapists. There were a lot of people who vocally wished for his release. A lot more who wanted him let go said it silently."_ _

__Katz rolled her eyes and took a forkful of crabs benedict up off her plate. "What are you getting at?"_ _

__"If the Wolfman is Will Graham, and if he could be found innocent by reason of insanity, the court of public opinion would be on his side."_ _

__"You don't know that."_ _

__"If I tell them to be, they will." Lounds waited for a few moments for Katz to do something, say anything. She had heard enough in the 'you don't know that' to be nearly certain she was correct about Graham. Being correct wasn't everything that she needed. The conversation, however, was obviously over on Katz's end. Lounds flipped her card out and tucked it under the bread sticks. "Waiter, can I get a to go box?"_ _

__-+-_ _

__The private rooms of the asylum still had that masked bile smell, but the furniture was more comfortable. The sun passed through the frosted glass of the windows tucked into the upper parts of the room. They were too small to fit a person through but Graham's hands were shackled to the table just the same._ _

__Lecter focused on the way that Graham's wrists pulled slightly at the restraints. ″So, tell me about your father, Will.″ The asylum was still not a comfortable place for a session, but it would have to do._ _

__Graham rolled his eyes. ″I don't have any issues with my father.″_ _

__″Of course you do.″ It wasn't that Lecter had much faith in Chilton's fumbling, but there had to be something to unwind, a start._ _

__″Why would I? He didn't do anything abusive, he did the best job that he knew how.″_ _

__″He didn't give you what you wanted.″_ _

__When Graham laughed there was no humor in it. ″And what did I want, Doctor Lecter?″_ _

__Lecter's own voice was soft, soothing. He leaned over the table and placed his hand near to where Graham's were bound. ″Stability. The same address. Not being the new boy in school.″_ _

__Despite Lecter's tone, Graham looked away to a corner of the room. He shifted like a wolf chained down to a log. His blue eyes narrowed. "From where I'm sitting I think that you and I want the same thing in our interactions with others."_ _

__This time Lecter didn't look away. ″Oh and what is that?″_ _

__Graham did. ″Understanding.″_ _

__″Do you feel that no one understands you?″ Lecter smiled and watched as Graham shifted uncomfortably._ _

__"A few people do, I suppose." Graham sighed._ _

__"Did your father?"_ _

__Graham snorted and broke eye contact._ _

__After it was clear that Graham was no longer willing to walk that path of communication he moved to another topic. ″You've been locked away in a box for almost a year. Most killers of your status have somewhat of a cult following. Where is your fanmail?″_ _

__″I don't get any.″ he shrugged. ″And I'm fine with that. I don't really want other people's panties."_ _

__″You could be quite the celebrity." Lecter lifted his hand off the table. "Headlines would say something about a young, handsome, and virile man who was confident and dangerous."_ _

__Graham laughed in response and shook his head. "Of course, right."_ _

__"But you dislike attention, odd for a man who is cripplingly lonely.″ Lecter observed him from the seat at the head of the table. He watched as Graham appeared to want to argue the point, to press that he was perfectly fine and not searching for someone who could get his vision. It became clear that he wasn't going to speak, so Lecter continued "why was there a blackout, do you know?"_ _

__″Jack doesn't like to be reminded of his shortcomings.″ Graham focused intently on his hands "and I suppose he thinks I'm a shortcoming.″_ _

__The response was firm and definite. ″Jack feels betrayed by you. When I spoke to him he felt as though you were going behind his back as it were."_ _

__Graham's shoulders slumped further. ″I figured he'd never understand. My head wasn't exactly in a good place those last three or four months. But that's not who he's really mad about. Not me, really. He feels responsible.″_ _

__Lecter considered this information for a while. ″Do you love him?″_ _

__″Not romantically.″ Graham glanced up, but he didn't meet Lecter's eyes before he looked back between his feet. ″But... sure. I love him. He have me a purpose. And stability, I suppose. Things...″ He sighed before admitting ″-things I didn't have as a kid.″_ _

__"He was your surrogate father?″_ _

__Graham shifted. The bruise on the side of his neck and face had faded to a soft greenish stain. It was still darker around his throat and chin when he swallowed. The sadness and loss was clear on his face. "I suppose I considered him my best friend."_ _

__Lecter folded his hands in front of him. "Considered? In the past tense?"_ _

__"I suppose." Graham repeated. "He knows I'd never hurt Bella." The last sentence was added in a bit of a rush and with firm conviction._ _

__Another glimmer of information shone between them with that comment. "Why do you go to that? Does your ability to hurt or not hurt his wife make your friendship valid or invalid?" There was some kind of fumbling attempt at morality, perhaps. Something that Graham could use to secure himself a place in humanity._ _

__"Because she's important to him. She's who he wants to protect."_ _

__Lecter made a note to look more into Jack's wife. After all, he needed as much leverage as he could if things were going to go the way he wanted them to. "And did you want to protect Jack from yourself?"_ _

__The face that Graham made was entirely offended When he spoke he almost spat the words out. "Jack doesn't need protection from me"_ _

__″So, a form of love, as you say.″_ _

__Graham nodded._ _

__″All forms of love are powerful, and they use those forms of love say a lot about a person.″_ _

__Graham adjusted himself as best he could given his manacles. He laughed a bit at himself, perhaps at them both; it was impossible to tell. ″Tell me, doctor, what does that say about me?″_ _

__Lecter smiled and thought about where to take the conversation next. Graham had opened the door. ″You want a family.″ Lecter simply walked in when invited._ _

__″But I have no idea how to handle one.″_ _

__″Of course not. You're not sane.″_ _

__Graham looked up and met Lecter's eyes. There was a wounded challenge behind them. ″That's not polite. How well would you operate with a swollen brain, Doctor?″_ _

__″Of course. But I wonder about that theory, sometimes.″ Lecter leaned back and smiled. ″I could be wrong, something could come up in our reviews to prove otherwise.″_ _

__″Well, the other option is that I'm too dangerous to let out.″ The lift in Graham's chin was somewhat defiant. " I don't like that option.″_ _

__″What would you do if you were proved to be innocent by reason of insanity?″ Lecter left the idea that Graham would do something for _him_ , specifically out of his words. The idea hung in the air without any need for Lecter to push it._ _

__Graham smirked as if he saw the same word in the air. ″Depends on what you want.″ His tone implied he was open to nearly anything._ _

__″I want you to tell me more about yourself. Not hold anything back from me.″ Lecter would deal with other desires later, after he had Graham fully exposed to him._ _

__″Like I said, this place is hardly good for … intimate chats.″ Graham sat up and lounged against the wall._ _

__″If you want to have discussions in my office, then you will need to give me a reason to let you out.″ Lecter felt like it was simply a matter of time before things would become unpredictable. It would be a glorious and bloody escape from his boredom._ _

__Graham clenched his jaw._ _

__"There are no cameras and no speakers in this room, Will. Our chats are between us and only us."_ _

__That earned a nod and then Graham finally revealed what Crawford had wanted to know. ″The bodies are in four states; that's where I had the worst flair ups. Seven in Maryland, two in West Virginia, four more are in North Carolina. The final three are in Massachusetts.″_ _

__Lecter's eyebrow lifted. ″Sounds like we're going on a road trip, provided the FBI chooses to acquiesce." Though I must ask you, if you were out of your mind at the time, Will, how do you recall the locations?"_ _

__Graham cleared his throat. ″If you look under my porch there's notes, receipts, pieces of _things_. Stuff I couldn't explain, I dumped it there because I...″_ _

__″Was afraid.″ Lecter leaned forward again and propped his chin in his hands. ″Of being caught or because you were paranoid?″_ _

__″I also drew clocks.″ Graham didn't answer the question poised to him._ _

__This information meant that Graham had considered the possibility of losing his mind before anyone else had. ″Clocks?″ The common reasoning test was a good way to gauge if one's spacial reasoning was off._ _

__″Unless you want me drawing something else. I warn you, I'm a mechanic, not an artist." Graham looked Lecter over and leaned back against his chair. The cuffs at his wrists clanked like ice in an expensive glass of cognac. "Not like you. You are quite an artist aren't you?″ Graham smiled. ″And what do you want to draw?″_ _

__Lecter could play that game. ″I mostly do anatomy drawings, and classical portraits.″_ _

__″You'll have to show me.″_ _

__″I will.″_ _

__Graham smiled. ″I'm glad we're still on the same page.″_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking so long! Hopefully this extra long Friday Posted Chapter (tm) makes up for it.


	5. It's His Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He was a silent fury who no torment could tame.”  
> ― Jack London, White Fang

″There are just some things, Doctor, that you cannot discuss with a man, regardless of his profession." Bella Crawford smoothed her skirt and sighed. She seemed calm and resigned about her place in the battle with cancer; the preparation for a broken heart. 

"What sorts of things?" Bloom kept a more professional distance with Crawford since Graham had gotten arrested. In many ways she blamed him for Graham's downfall. She had warned Crawford to not put him out there. Once he was there, she had warned him not to push Graham. In the end, the whole situation left her feeling betrayed, not by Graham, but by the system she felt took advantage of him. 

Bella clenched her jaw and took a deep breath. "How you sit up and listen to him breathe, wondering who is going to protect him when you are gone because he has been pushing everyone away." She sniffed a bit and she lifted the back of her left hand to her eye. 

The kleenix box made a soft hiss as Bloom slid one out to hand to her patient. In the back of her mind she had to swallow down the belief that this was, in part, Crawford's fault. 

Bella coughed into the tissue and then swallowed. "The soft things that men are conditioned to not speak of, lest they be seen as weaklings." Bella leaned back in Doctor Bloom's patient chair.

Bloom nodded and leaned back herself. "Feelings, you mean?"

"Oh, Jack has never had problems with feelings when it comes to me. He is by all accounts a doting husband." She sipped from a water bottle and sat it back down on the table by her elbow. "And that is the problem."

Bloom felt for Bella. Crawford had a habit of steamrolling everyone around him without intending to. It wasn't that he was a tyrant. Instead, Crawford got tunnel vision. The last time that vision came with very clear casualties. 

"Has Doctor Lecter spoken with you about Will?" Bella wasn't exactly changing the subject and they both knew that.

Bloom shifted in her seat. "Yes, but you know that I can't speak on Will for professional reasons."

Her lips parted in a soft smile. "Jack is much more forthcoming with his wife than is professional." Bella confirmed what Bloom already knew. "I want to believe that Will is better, that he was sick. Jack ... I don't think Jack could stand to see Will freed and then have that be wrong."

Bloom had the same thought when Graham had finally been caught. Bloom's anger had been directed to the same place Crawford's had been. Him, the system, not to Graham. She had never felt like Graham was a danger to her or to anyone. Bloom didn't think it was possible for _everyone_ to be so wrong. "Have which part be wrong?"

"That Will killed people and knew he was doing it." Bella's tone suggested that she felt she was stating the obvious, She considered what she was going to say after that at some length. "The possibly depraved part of that is I still feel as though I would be safe with him." Bella sighed. "Is it wrong, you think?"

The answer to that question was a point of internal conflict for Bloom. The truth of the matter was that she absolutely would still feel secure around Graham. Still, she knew that she had to allow the doctor within her to lead the conversation, not Will Graham's friend. "I think that interpersonal relationships are very difficult to quantify as 'right' and 'wrong'."

With a resigned nod, Bella leaned forward. "I figured you'd say that." She paused to take another drink of water. "Jack cannot understand why not us, I suppose. Maybe he feels like he deserves punishment." Bella sighed and looked up a moment. "Maybe he is confused as to how he managed to escape Will's judgment."

"Well, you can't, unfortunately, fix what Jack thinks. But, you can talk to him. It may not seem like it, but you can. You are his partner, and as this continues you will need each other more than ever." 

"Every time I bring up Will, Jack takes Winston for a walk." Bella looked at the kerchief in her hands and folded it. "I think we should both go see him. I'm afraid that if I visit alone it would push Jack to do something he otherwise would not do."

Bloom wanted to encourage Bella to visit Graham, but did not. It would be one part too leading for a psychiatrist to say to her patient and another part hypocrite since Bloom hadn't visited him herself. "Maybe you just need to ask him why. Why he won't speak to him. Instead of giving a command, open a dialogue."

There was a pause and then Bella nodded. "I think I know how to proceed."

-+-

There were few quiet places in the yard of the Baltimore Home for the Criminally Insane. The walls had no trees within reach of the poison ivy decorated barbed wire. The majority of the inmates sat along benches that crackled against the gravel. Rumblings of discussions resonated off the thick walls mingling conversations between actual people and those imagined.

Graham wanted to be alone and managed to find a spot under a tree whose branches had been lopped off to prevent climbing. Or hanging anyone, he supposed. 

His eyes drifted closed when he heard someone stepping off the concrete into the grass. The footfalls were too sure for them to belong to anyone who would start a fight so he left his eyes closed. 

"Mr. Graham?" It was one of the guards. 

Graham looked up slowly as if he had been asleep. The guard was one that he knew from previous interactions. He was relaxed and sure of himself in most situations. His black eyes had a somewhat bored expression that went with the lazy pacing of the day. 

"Yes?" Graham didn't expressly agree with the guard. 

"You've a visitor."

With a soft grunt, Graham picked himsef up off of the ground. He wasn't expecting anyone. In the back of his mind he wondered if he needed to be wary of his new-found popularity. The guard cleared his throat and Graham realized he hadn't responded. "Oh, yes. Sorry."

-+-

The sun flitted into the meeting room through those too-narrow windows. Graham expected to see Lecter so he opened up with a polite apology. "Sorry to keep you wai-Bella?" Graham nearly laughed as he saw her sitting across the table. Of the people he had been expecting to see, she did not top his list. He was both happy to see her and somewhat worried that she was there. She looked like she was tired of carrying a burden. 

Bella waited as the guard fastened him to the table by the wrist restraints. She then smiled at him. "Hello, Will." Bella turned and looked at the guard. "This matter is private, if you please."

The guard nodded and left without bothering to double-check Graham's restraints. 

"Hi, Bella." Graham stopped himself from asking her how she was doing. 

Her hooded eyes were tired with that angry, oppressed acceptance that people can only have when they see clearly how unfair things are in the end. She looked Graham over after a nod in greeting. Maternal worry crossed over Bella's expression. "What happened to your face?" She always had been a fixer.

Graham had almost forgotten about the bruise. It was nearly gone by this point. The comment threw him from his deep searching of Bella's mind when she spoke. "Oh, a fight."

Her full mouth down-turned at the corner. "That doesn't explain much." 

"The Tooth Fairy. Apparently, he realized I was here finally." Graham shrugged his shoulders and leaned forward on the table. "It's not that important. You came here for a reason, right? Is everything okay?" In his own way, Graham was a fixer as well. 

"Aside from cancer you mean?" The nakedness of the way she said that was almost like a weapon being unsheathed. 

Graham flinched and took time to form a simple reply "yes...I guess."

"It's okay, Will. I accept it. It's not a happy acceptance, but there is little that I can do about it. You can't be mad at cancer for doing its job." 

Graham looked at her hands before meeting her eyes again. "You can be inconvenienced." 

That earned a laugh. "Yes, like one is inconvenienced by a cat scratching the sofa or a dog for barking, I suppose."

"It's in their nature." Graham agreed. 

"People's natures are a bit more complex." Bella responded. After a moment's hesitation she lifted her hands and held both of Graham's. "You're not stupid. You have to know what's going on."

He considered this a moment before he responded. "I have hopes, I suppose."

"Hopes?" She tilted her head to one side, her curls shifted to caress her shoulder. 

Graham knew that Bella was calculatingly sharp in many aspects of her life. She needed reasons and order in a way that tempered Crawford's emotional response. He gave her the beauty of life and she gave him grounding. Graham kept this in mind allowed himself to be honest with her. "Curiosities, may be a better word. It's hard to believe that I could be let out of here. Harder to believe that what happened a year ago could have been me."

"Dogs and cats are simple, cancer is simple, Will." She squeezed his hands in hers. "And despite their complexity, I don't believe that people's natures change much."

He focused on their hands. "What's that say about me?"

"That regardless of the truth I trust you, Will. I trust your nature and when I am gone Jack is going to _need_ you in a way that I don't think any of us realize."

"But-"

She shook her head."No buts, Will. I'm telling you it doesn't matter."

Graham searched her face again for anything that would strike him as off or worse, _entrapment_. Dark and depth-less, he waded thru her mind fishing for anything that would be manipulation and his lure returned with nothing. There was honesty, there was desperation, but there was no deception. "why are you telling me this?"

"Because, Will. You're the only one that I can talk to about what's going on like this. I don't need to sugar coat for you. You already know, don't you?"

With an audible swallow, Graham nodded. 

"Good." Bella patted his hands and replaced her sure expression with a lady-like smile. "I hope we'll be able to have tea again soon."

"Me too, Bella."

-+-

The sun prompted her to take her light jacket off as Bella made her way across the parking lot. She was so cold lately that even in the late spring weather she kept a coat or sweater hooked across her bag or over her arm. She made her way to her car, blue flats softly padded on the pavement and the wind picked up. 

She paused once she reached the car and looked around again. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The hospital was effectively a small city; regardless of repair every vehicle seemed to belong. Bella couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. She clenched her jaw and put the key into her lock. If someone was looking, let them. She was beyond hiding anything. 

After she closed the door and buckled her seat-belt, Bella sat in her car and looked at the steering-wheel in her hands. She came to one conclusion: you couldn't be mad at cancer for doing its job.

-+-

# Tattlecrime.com

## Unmasking the Wolfman

Who is the Wolfman? This question has been swirling around for a year now with hundreds if not thousands of possible killer or _killers_ suggested. One of the most prominent names intimated is William Graham. The more that I dig into this case, the more I believe that Graham is, in fact, the Wolfman.

Will Graham dropped off of the map in the year after the Wolfman Killer's arrest. This alone wouldn't be damning except for the fact that he worked on this case, along with many others. A prized consultant and criminal profiler for the FBI, Will Graham worked because he got into the mind of the killers he hunted. 

Was that all he was hunting?

As of now, you can't get a register of the people housed in the Baltimore Home for the Criminally Insane because it's a "medical institution". This ties into sources close to Will Graham confirming that he's been ill. Ill with what, this reporter wants to know.  


-+-

Lounds closed her laptop after her latest post and leaned back in her chair. It was rare for her to be so sure of a story and be wrong. Lounds flipped through the photographs that she'd taken and stopped at the one of the black woman with curly hair. She looked very familiar but an image search turned up very little. She was pretty, well dressed, possibly a doctor or a lawyer? She was married by the look of the ring on her finger; she could have been the wife of a doctor or a lawyer as well. "Dead end." Freddie muttered and flipped the image over. 

She had no way of knowing it was Bella Crawford's's picture as she cased out the front of the Baltimore Home for the Criminally Insane. She kept a mental note of the comings and goes and tucked it away into her mind for further use. Freddie had a log of everyone that was coming in and out of the place, updated with days, times, and possible schedules. As of yet, she hadn't had a chance to get inside. She tapped her fingers against her coffee cup and frowned. 

"Live end." She smiled at the next picture. Doctor Hannibal Lecter, Baltimore Psychiatrist by way of Italy by way of possibly Lithuania according to her research. He wasn't the sort who would have to deal with criminals anymore. That meant he was there by choice. Searching into his other histories told Lounds that he was at the very least friendly with Doctor Alana Bloom who had been friendly with both Jack Crawford and Will Graham. She tapped a red and purple nail against Lecter's image. "And I'm going to get to talk to you in an hour."

With that, Lounds swept out of her chair to get ready for her appointment. 

-+-

The hiss of the doors was mute and nearly unnoticeable. A soft pad of the door's closing got lost in the authoritative footsteps that crossed over the cell block. It broke the smothering quiet of the inmates and rippled up into murmurs in his wake. He stopped a foot away from the front of Graham's cell.

Graham looked up. ″I... didn't expect to see you.″

Jack Crawford sat down on the folding chair and looked intently at Graham through the glass. ″Don't lie to me, Will.″


	6. Reintroduction Propsoal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep...”   
> ― John Milton, Paradise Lost

"I don't want to lie to you, Jack." Graham sat down on the cot and looked directly at Crawford. He seemed relaxed and more importantly, healthy. Crawford was quick to note, that while Graham made soft eye contact, the moment they began talking he looked at Crawford through the frame of his glasses.

Graham's vulnerable expression chipped at Crawford's hard edges. "I'm serious. If I think you're fucking with me..." there was little he could threaten Will Graham with, considering.

"I know." Graham responded. 

Crawford gritted his teeth. "I let you in my house, Will. Alone, with my wife." As hard as Crawford pretended that he felt as though Bella could have been in danger. He knew that Graham already weighed and measured them. For whatever reason, he and Bella had been found as worthy while others had not.

"You know I'd never hurt Bella. I …" Graham looked away from Crawford, words caught up in his throat.

"Why! Tell me what it is about us that gives us a pass when ninety other people didn't!?" Crawford took deliberate, confident strides to the glass and slammed his open palm against it.

"I..." Graham looked up, but didn't exactly meet Crawford's eyes.

"Look at me." Crawford asked in a much softer tone.

Graham's tone matched his. "I am."

"No, Will. Look at me." Each word was a sentence unto itself.

Graham took a deep breath and stared into Crawford's eyes. It was a surreal moment for Crawford, who built a curtain of iron about his inner fears. Graham, a man that Crawford thought was delicate seemed to walk through his curtain as though it was made of gossamer. His gaze gave Crawford the distinct feeling of being sliced open, his mind a cavity to be searched and pondered over. When Graham broke eye contact, Crawford stopped to breath again.

"You're a good person, Jack. You're my friend."

The placation didn't answer Crawford's question. "How can you call me a friend when you slaughtered people behind my back?" He couldn't tell if he was more angry at Graham or the constant insistence that Crawford was a good person. 

Graham stood up and walked closer to the glass himself. His shoulders tensed and his words ground out intensely. "Goddammit, Jack. It wasn't _like_ that! That's not what this was." 

_That's not how he's loving them!_ echoed in Crawford's mind when Graham spoke. He took a deep breath and pushed past the memory. "Then what was it, Will?"

Graham swallowed and backed down from Crawford. He folded inward and shook his head. "I don't know, Jack. I can't explain it."

Silence fell about the room. It covered everything with a hollow, winter morning quiet. A full minute ticked by before Crawford finally asked "do you remember any of it?"

Graham shrugged. "Like you remember a dream, I suppose."

"Where they good dreams, Will?"

Graham clenched his jaw and looked back into Crawford's eyes. "Maybe…" his voice drifted off and he focused on the chair that Crawford had been sitting in. "Sometimes. I'm not entirely sure anymore."

"Why can't you just tell me what I want to hear, Will? Why do you answer like that?" It would have been better for Graham to say he had no idea, that he was confused and conflicted. He didn't need to hear the dreamy quality in Graham's voice. Crawford wanted to hear something concrete in Graham's answer.

"Because I told you I'm not going to lie to you."

Crawford fell back to the chair and looked up at the ceiling a moment before he leaned forward and propped his elbows on his legs. "Do you remember when I found out about Bella?"

Graham nodded.

"And you sat there until I said something."

"You needed someone to." There was a concrete answer. The thing that Crawford had been waiting to hear. 

He appreciated that, though Crawford hadn't told Graham as much. Not once, not ever. It didn't seem to matter, though. Graham was well aware how Crawford felt. Crawford didn't want to admit to treasuring a friendship to have it go sour. He didn't want his judgement to be wrong when it came to someone like Graham. "I suppose I did."

"You'd do the same for me." Graham responded. "You'd be there."

"Why didn't you trust me to be there for your illness, then?" Crawford knew he got tunnel vision when it came to his search for justice. The passionate feeling of a concrete 'right' and 'wrong' had once been the lighthouse he used to guide himself back to dry land after a long day in an emotionally turbulent sea. 

Graham took a deep breath and shook his head. "I couldn't be sure myself."

"We found the files under your porch. The ones that you told Doctor Lecter about."

Graham flinched, but didn't say anything. 

"Will, they were obvious evidence in your favor." Part of Crawford that was hurt by the fact that Graham felt as though he couldn't confide in him. Crawford couldn't keep that hurt from his voice "why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

Graham's face looked pained; his expression drifted from slight panic to resigned sadness. "I - I don't know, Jack. I was scared when I figured it out and I didn't…" his voice trailed off and he rolled his shoulders into himself. 

"Did you think I wouldn't listen to you?"

With a swallow, Gram talked mostly at the corner of his cell. "You were going to do your job, Jack. That's what you do."

Crawford stood and pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. He pushed it against the glass. "What do you see?"

Graham's face contorted. "...I drew that?" The clock on the page was a jumbled mess, the circle didn't hold all of the numbers; his signature was a wild mess off to one side.

"You never looked at them?" More confirmation about the situation. Crawford allowed the tension to ease away from his shoulders. 

Graham shook his head 'no'.

Crawford put the paper back into his pocket and sat back down. "Is Doctor Lecter helping?"

Graham shrugged his shoulders and then did the same. "I like him better than Chilton. Things feel less like they have an agenda."

After a nod, Crawford thought a while longer. He had come to the Baltimore Home for the Criminally Insane with a purpose. Speaking with Graham was only confirmation of what Crawford had already chosen to do. "I have decided that we are going to do a trial release program."

Graham's head jerked up; he looked shocked, and he worked his mouth before he spoke. "What?"

" _Contingent_ on you helping us find those bodies and your cooperation with Doctor Lecter." Crawford could have stopped and walked out. He possibly should of considered more before agreeing to free Will Graham.

Graham laughed. "Really?"

But he couldn't bring himself to wait. "Don't make me wrong about this, Will." Crawford didn't wait for another response. Instead he stood and strode out of the room.

When the doors closed behind Crawford, Graham smiled to himself. "Don't you worry Jack, I won't."

-+-

The desk was of fine make, cherry colored and scrolled on the bottom. Small cards and scratch paper littered the open-able drawers. Nothing looked much more important than anything else so Lounds swept one or two items into her bag. She then heard Lecter's door open and dashed back from behind the desk to stand before it. "I-I'm sorry, I'm afraid I was looking for your assistant? I hate to be late." Lounds looked at the empty desk.

Lounds preferred to have the upper hand in a conversation. She always came to the table with an agenda and an angle to approach any situation. Most men in power tended to be dismissive of nervous women. "I researched you a great deal, you know. Before I wanted to talk to you." She fiddled with her purse. "You're really well recommended, if you'd like to know."

"I already knew, but it is good to hear." Lecter had a soft smile that was just one way south of earnest. Something in his carriage was predatory. Perhaps it could have been his confidence and authority. "What's going on that you felt you should seek therapy, Miss Heartilly?"

"I think maybe I'm having trouble connecting with someone I'd like to connect with." The trick to lying was to do it hidden in the sheath of truth. "I think I may have trust issues."

"Trust is one of the most important aspects of every relationship, including the one you and I may build." Lecter agreed he then motioned to a glass at Lounds' side. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Oh, water if you please?" She pushed some hair out of her face. 

Lecter walked over to a pitcher and poured a glass for his prospective client. "So, tell me about the person you're trying to connect with."

"She's sharp, really guarded." Freddie bit her lip a bit. "She's also beautiful."

"So you have romantic feelings?"

Lounds shrugged. "Maybe? We haven't talked much and I sort of broached a bad topic the first time we really sat down to speak to each other alone."

"What sort of topic?"

A deep breath in and out primed Lounds to release one of her small moments of honesty. "I accused her friend of doing something horrible." 

Lecter leaned back in his chair. "And do you believe he did?"

Lounds took a drink of water. "I do. More than that, I think that everyone around him knows and they're all too attached to him to worry about it. Or maybe, deep down, they agree with him."

Lecter's eyebrow arched in question. "Do you agree with this horrible thing?"

She bit the inside of her cheek and considered lying before the truth spilled out in a less controlled manner than before. "I agree with a lot of horrible things for the greater good." Lounds then took a deep breath and then continued, "honestly, it's one of the reasons that I came to you, Doctor."

Lecter reached forward to sip at his own glass of water. "Is that so?"

"Well, you work with the FBI, right? With mentally ill criminals?"

"That I do, Miss Heartilly. Though I am curious to know how you found that out."

She bit her lip and looked down at her lap before she looked back up sheepishly. "I spend too much time online."

-+-

Lecter was collecting his notes about 'Miss Heartilly' when a knock at the door pulled him from his musings. Something about her mention of the Baltimore Home for the Criminally Insane seemed odd to him. For right now, he'd have to let it slide. The second knock sounded authoritative and heavy. Lecter got up and opened the door. "Jack, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Crawford looked as though he'd made one of the most difficult choices in his life. "I'd like to speak about Will Graham, if you have the time." Perhaps he had. 

Lecter allowed himself to look perplexed. "Is there anything wrong?"

At this point in their relationship, Lecter couldn't tell if the minute show of worry on Crawford's face spoke of trust in Lecter or if it was the glimmer of how much he was truly concerned. "There's no reason to drag this out, Doctor Lecter. I'm allowing Will's observed release. _Contingent_ on his agreement to help locate the remaining bodies." 

A nod followed from Lecter and he motioned to his liquor cabinet. "I see."

"You don't seem that surprised."

"In reality I am not." Lecter opened the doors and surveyed his stock. "Whiskey, Jack? Or wine?"

Crawford cracked a smile and a half chuckle. "Wine, red if you have it."

"I do." Only the best, of course. Lecter was hopeful for this outcome and to have it happen after only a season made him thrill in dark places of his soul. Crawford didn't have to know that he picked his Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon from the back of his cabinet to celebrate. Fine wines were part of what was expected of Lecter. He poured two glasses. "I assume that my assessments have helped you reach this conclusion?" He handed a glass to Crawford. 

"Yes. But you were not the only person I consulted, Doctor Lecter." Crawford swirled the glass of wine and breathed in the aroma. He sighed, pleased before taking a sip. "However, you are the person with the most difference and so I have a request."

The oakiness of the wine was heady and fragrant. Lecter allowed himself to enjoy breathing it in. "Of course, Jack." Lecter motioned to the chairs in front of his desk to sit down.

"This will be more like a house arrest program than it would be a true release." Crawford explained. "Will is going to be allowed to have sessions with you here in your office. Other than that his only time on the outside will be in the field under extreme supervision."

After a sip of his own glass, Lecter nodded. "This makes sense." There was the added bonus of Graham's only true free time being under Lecter's control. Crawford had no idea how large a gift he was giving Lecter. A lamb lead up to the transfiguration of dinner or wolfhood. "How large will the security detail be?"

"I have enlisted a private company. People who don't know Will the way that the rest of us do." Crawford motioned to Lecter with the glass of wine. "I would like you to go with Will and observe his behavior in the field."

This was somewhat unexpected. ″Me? But Doctor Bloom was...″

"That would be why I chose you, Doctor Lecter." Crawford continued, "You're not as invested in Will as Doctor Bloom … or myself. You will be the best assessment on how sincere his recovery is."

He and Doctor Bloom had both talked to Crawford after doing the research on Graham's condition. Lecter happened to leave out that it was his idea in the first place, not Bloom's. It was working out to his advantage. While he hadn't expected to need to look out into the future and rearrange his schedule, Franklyn could worry himself in circles without Lecter for a short time. "I shall clear my books sometime next month then."

Crawford nodded. He paused and looked at the stag statue displayed proudly in Lecter's office. "Do you believe that Will is dangerous, Doctor Lecter?" Crawford turned his head and looked intently at Lecter with the question.

Lecter smiled secure in the knowledge that people didn't want to hear opinions; they only wanted confirmation on what they already thought. He was all too happy to deliver. "No, with proper medication, I don't believe he's dangerous at all."

Pleased, Crawford nodded his head. "Regardless of our feelings on the matter, you'll be outfitted with a bullet-proof vest and there will be guards."

Lecter frowned. He regretted the idea of a bulletproof vest, "I am not sure that putting me in a bulletproof vest will help gain William's trust, Jack." They were also so unflattering.

"Unfortunately due to the prospective locations, he may have more mobility than they'll be comfortable with. In this sort of situation they require more precautions than either of us think may be needed." Crawford leaned forward in his seat. "I am hoping that this will be overkill."

"I thought you trusted William?"

Crawford took a deep breath. "I do. Too much and I won't have you in danger because of my trust." He set the glass down and stood. Crawford was not a man that did well seated for long periods it appeared. 

Lecter remained seated but he turned to watch Crawford stalk about his bookshelves. "Understood, Jack."

"Is there anything else you think that you'll need then, Doctor Lecter?" Crawford let one of his hands drift across the spine of some of Lecter's books. His eyes flicked over the words, but he didn't appear to read them.

Lecter stood himself then and shook his head. "Not at the moment, but I'm sure we'll figure that out as this experiment plays out."

Crawford sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked up at the shelf of books in Lecter's office. "Ever wish to be right so badly that you worry it clouds your judgment, doctor?"

Hannibal relaxed his posture near the ladder. "That's what I'm here for; my judgment is clear. Sound."

"I'll leave you to it then, Doctor. Thank you for your cooperation."

Hannibal finished his glass of wine as Crawford left his office. The tannic in the fine, dark Cabernet lifted the acidic tang in a way that complimented his anticipation of things to come. Finally, someone who had a chance of being worthy. Something to occupy his time in a manner that wasn't running the same circles around neurotics, over and over again.

Perhaps he would buy a new tie.


	7. Calling Card

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you think we can be friends?” I asked.  
> He stared up at the ceiling. “Probably not, but we can pretend.”   
> ― Priya Ardis, Ever My Merlin

"Hello, this is Irena Melagis, I'm Doctor Lecter's assistant." Freddie Lounds twirled a still wet lock of hair around her forefinger. She smiled into her cell phone. "No, the doctor is out on some business and he would like me to speak to Mr Graham on his behalf."

She moved her hand from her hair and inspected her vibrant, pink manicure. "I know I'm not on the list, but this was rather urgent and he hates to be seen as rude, especially to his patients." 

"I'm sorry, but I cannot confirm or deny the identity of patients here, Miss Melagis."

"Meh-lag-is." Lounds corrected as if it was truly her name.

"Melagis, I apologize again." The person on the other line was professional but distant and Lounds couldn't figure out if they were going to budge or not. "I cannot tell someone who is not on the confirmed list anything about a patient."

Lounds made a groaning half-whine as if she was debating how she would get what she needed. "Oh! How about this. I already know that Doctor Lecter is seeing a patient there. Can you just… put me thru to them without telling me who they are?"

Through the phone, Lounds felt the scowl of the orderly. "Miss, what part of I cannot confirm do you not understand?" His groan was tired and lacked any whine. "Do you know how many people I have calling about stuff like this? 

"Lots, I know, but how many of them are worried about getting royally chewed out at work?"

"...fine, I'll patch you thru."

-+-

When the orderly arrived to take Graham into the private phone room he was perplexed. The phone room reminded him of an old booth. It smelled of desperation and lacked any natural light. It was unusual for people to call him, though a lot of unusual things had been happening to him as of late. It could have been Katz, Lecter, even Crawford. 

"Will Graham?" That voice didn't belong to any of the people he'd thought of.

He answered quickly, allowing his shock he felt to be used for an advantage. "I beg your pardon?" 

On the other end of the line he could tell that the woman was thinking by the click of her tongue. "I… apologize, I was supposed to get through to Mister Will Graham."

"Well, you got me." Graham responded casually. 

"Who is this?" He knew that woman's voice, but Graham couldn't put his finger on where he'd heard her before. From what he could tell over the phone, she was just as confused as he was. 

"I'm the Wolfman."

"But not Will Graham." She was persistent, he'd give her that. 

"Just the Wolfman, for the moment." Graham settled into the chair and smiled. "Is this Little Red Riding Hood?"

"Cute." She didn't sound that amused. "If we're going to play that game, sure, I'm on my way to Grandmother's house. Is the road clear, Brer Wolf?"

"Depends on where you walk in the woods, my dear."

He couldn't get a good read on the situation from the woman's voice. He wished he could peer into her eyes and measure out the rest of her game. She cleared her throat. "I"m walking straight to the house. There are things that other people need to know there."

"Oh, see, there you're wrong, Miss Hood. The biggest monster isn't on the path yet. You've probably met it and not even noticed."

That got her to perk up, her voice lifted with curiosity that was too genuine for him not to believe. "So where should I be looking then, Brer Wolf?"

He snorted. "I'm not going to do all the work for you, Miss Hood. Goodybe." He cut her off and hung up the phone. In the box that stunk of desperation a different kind entirely hung in the air between their lines. She wanted something from him and she knew who he was. It was simple luck for Graham that she wasn't aware that she knew. Graham wondered on the woman's identity. It was too outside of the book for her to represent any law agency. Perhaps a private eye, but she spoke of telling people the truth. 

The truth was just a matter of perception, thankfully. 

-+-

The anklet monitor was less distracting then Lecter had assumed it would be. The red light flashed when Graham sat down across from him. His body language was guarded, somewhat nervous, but not as self-protective as it had been when Graham was in the Baltimore Home for the Criminally Insane. He leaned forward, steady and un-moving, with his elbows propping his body up on his knees. "Good morning, Doctor Lecter." He was tense in a way that said it was a flight or fight response. Lecter had no idea how to tell what one at the moment. 

"Please, Will. Relax. I assure you that nothing here could harm you and no one is listening in." He sat back in his chair and sipped his coffee. "Could I get you something to drink? I have cold brewed coffee if you'd like."

Graham sat up slowly and took in the room around him. "Sure, actually. It's really hot already."

The summer had crashed in like a sledgehammer and sucked Baltimore into a muggy heatwave that made everything cling in the worst places. Lecter had a spare suit in his office and had changed before Graham arrived. He made his way to a small refrigerator and got his patient a cup. "I brew it myself." 

Graham took a small sip and then a longer drink. He smiled after and looked around the room for the first time, taking in every detail with that careful precision he typically reserved for the minds of others. "May I?" He motioned to the stag statue by Lecter's doorway.

Lecter nodded. "Of course. Wander the office to your heart's content." Lecter enjoyed watching Graham move about his room, he took careful note of what items drew Graham's attention. 

There was a reverent way that Graham touched the statue, his fingers slid up the stag's bronze antlers. Thumb and forefinger traced one point of the antlers in a delciate motion. "Does the name Melagis mean anything to you?"

The question scraped across the image of Graham's hands on the stag. "I know the Lithuanian word, not as a name." There was some primal jealousy that Lecter forced down; who had Graham been speaking to? "Why do you ask?"

"What does it mean?" Graham's blue eyes still focused on the stag. He crooked his middle finger and ran the back of his knuckle over its haunches. 

"Liar."

Graham let out a soft "hrm" and continued around the office. He inspected the same books that had taken Crawford's attention merely a few weeks earlier. Unlike Crawford, Graham carefully read each title from the spines. 

"Why did you ask, Will?"

He seemed startled by the question and Graham turned from the books. "Oh, something I heard in the asylum. You seemed to me like you'd know."

"I know a great many things." Lecter smiled at the compliment. “Now, why don’t you tell me what the Wolfman was thinking? Why take such pains to hide everything?”

Graham took another sip of his coffee and made his way back to the chairs. “Because it is a dishonor.”

There was a heady allure to this discussion. Lecter almost wanted to release the reigns entirely and see what Graham would do. However, “most serial killers tend to display their victims, to prove their lack of worth as human beings so to speak.” Lecter knew that he needed to test the waters still. 

Graham smirked wolfishly when he sat down. His teeth gleamed the same color as the white cup. “That’s vain. And probably childish.”

Lecter clenched his jaw. "Do you truly think so?"

“The purest form of dishonor, Doctor Lecter, is erasure." Graham set his cup down with a soft finality. "Everyone talks about the Ripper’s victims. They're known by name. In reality, everyone he's killed lives on in memory." When he continued speaking, Graham sat back in the chair. His posture was still stiff and his ankle bracelet was fully visible from where it sat over his knee. Still, he seemed more self assured than he had before. "Make someone vanish, hide them forever. Then you’ve done more than dishonor.”

This was not the first time that Graham had brought up the Ripper in Leceter's presence. If Lecter wasn't so sure of himself, it could have been unsettling. Where they were was Lecter's domain. Graham had no power there and that was something they both knew keenly. All the cards at this moment were in Lecter's hands. “You compare the Wolfman to the Ripper a great deal. Are you perhaps in competition?”

Those clear eyes bored into him. “Do you think he wants to be?”

Lecter leaned forward in the same manner Graham had when their meeting began. “You would be the expert, wouldn’t you, Will?”

Graham smirked. “I suppose I would be." He picked the coffee cup back up and took a drink. "I find the Ripper to be fascinating and, aside from myself-"

"The Wolfman. When we discuss the crimes, Will, we are not discussing you." Lecter was gentle with his prodding for now.

Graham looked comforted by the clarification. "The Wolfman; he’s got the longest known history on record. I’m hardly the only person making the connection.” There was a bit of a pause before Graham spoke “Doctor Lecter, may I ask you a rather direct question?”

“Of course.”

Graham looked at the floor. His eyes focused on a space between Lecter's shoes. “You wouldn’t lie to me…" Graham looked up then "would you, Doctor?”

Lecter appeared affronted. “Paranoia, Will?”

Graham's expression grew hard. “Just promise me that you won’t lie to me.”

In response, Lecter smiled. “Now why would I do that?”

-+-

The body was of a man. His throat had been sliced open, though he appeared to have been drained of blood in general. The grey tone of the body blended in with the beech wood trees he was found near. He was also obviously missing his heart. In it's place was a box shaped like a Valentine heart. The box was filled with house centipedes. Earwigs could be seen hiding in his ears. Though that wasn't the natural habitat of the bugs, the killer appeared to be taking urban legends seriously. Other injuries or missing organs would have to wait till they had the body in the labs. 

"I've mentioned that I love bees, but earwigs? Seriously?" Jimmy Price was one of the best medical examiners that the FBI had to offer. His tenure with the bureau spanned over twenty years and he was part of a very specialized unit. He made a pained face as he dropped a very large earwig into a jar where it scrambled about trying to find purchase to climb out. "When we're done with these I'm mailing some to my brother."

One of his coworkers, Brian Zeller made a disgusted face. He then took a glove off and ran his hand through his beard in a self conscious manner. 

"You don't have bugs." Katz stood behind them both though she had said she was going to get the house centipede from the victim's chest. By this point it was very clear that she had no intention of coming closer. 

Zeller still itched his beard and shuddered. "Thought you were getting … those?" He motioned his gloved hand at the house centipedes that were scrambling in and out of a heart-shaped box that had been shoved into the victim's chest. 

"Nope." Katz even took a step backwards. "Not."

"You both have eaten sandwiches over cadavers and you can't pick up a few bugs?" Price shook his head and laughed. "They're both harmless."

"Nothing that can bite me with its ass is harmless," Zeller quipped. 

Price looked at Zeller over the top of his glasses. "Your ass is way more dangerous than theirs. See?" To prove his point he put his gloved index finger into the jar with the earwig. The bug skittered around it before ignoring it entirely.

"Once it's dead I'm fine with it." Katz responded. "Till then, you get the nope bugs."

"Fine, start labeling, Bev, Ze, take notes." 

-+-

They were all long-since immune to the metallic and sterile smells from the lab. No one spoke of the waft of formaldehyde that wafted their way when the air handlers kicked on. They were instead focused on the task at hand. "So, it's important first to note that earwigs don't go into ears. They like it under logs or a lovely pile of leaves." Price was explaining their findings hours later in the lab to Crawford.

"What the killer did was fill the ear cavities with soil and allowed the body temperature to make the area ...more...ah… inviting." Zeller filled in. "He then relied on body heat of the newly dead corpse to keep them there since they don't much like sunlight." When Price looked surprised Zeller gave him a look that clearly said he actually listened when the other man spoke. 

"The opposite is true of house centipedes, less commonly known as scutigera coleoptrata." Price explained. "They liked the box because he put a little light in it. They're known to be drawn to homes from porch lights _and_ despite all outward appearances, they're very useful in keeping other pests including earwigs away."

"Meaning he killed the victim, put the bugs in, transported the body just before dawn and left it. Time of death is roughly five to ten hours before he was found."

Crawford was looking at the box and jars of bugs, his face unreadable. "Cause of death?"

"Single slash to the throat. Made with a hunting knife. Possibly the same make and model as the Wolfman's." Katz answered. 

That drew Crawford's attention away. "Any other similarities?"

"Yup. All fatty organs missing, Only major difference are these little guys." Price motioned to the jars of bugs. "So it has to mean something."

"Do we have guesses?" Crawford didn't bother to look back at the bugs. 

"Earwigging is a term used for eavesdropping." Zeller commented. "It's possible that the killer caught him hearing something that he didn't want to have heard. Maybe it's a message."

Crawford nodded. "Message to the victim or a message to someone else?" 

"That we don't know. We also don't know why house centipedes." Price shrugged while writing on his clipboard. 

"I know who would." Crawford's comment snapped everyone's attention at him. "Price, Ze, get more information on this body. Katz, go get Graham." All three of them stammered at him and Crawford crossed his arms over his chest. "Get on it!"

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the rewrite! I'm currently working thru every chapter posted to polish it up and better reflect who I am as a fanwriter. I want to thank crankyoldman for her help in getting the project started during draft 1's first half and also thank you to shipwrecklight for editing assistance! Hope you all like version 2.


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